


Reassurance

by wave_of_sorrow



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (2009), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Fingerfucking, First Time, Hand Job, Kissing, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-06
Updated: 2010-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wave_of_sorrow/pseuds/wave_of_sorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson is self-conscious about his scars; Holmes reassures him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reassurance

**Author's Note:**

> First posted at my LJ as a response to a Kinkmeme prompt.

It’s not that Watson feels inadequate, precisely. It’s just that next to Holmes with his feline grace that seems to come so naturally, Watson sometimes feels a bit out of place with his limp and the cane he needs for support. He’s learned to live with the pain and the stiffness, even with his inability to simply get up from his chair on a bad day. What he once saw as craters, disgusting holes in his flesh, his muscle, his skin, ugly and shameful, have become to him simply that which they are; scars.

 

He no longer feels the need to cover himself or hide his body from Holmes. He feels comfortable in his own skin and he enjoys simply being naked with Holmes, much more than he used to. The burning shame and sickening embarrassment have vanished. Holmes made sure of it. With gentle, unhesitant touches and soft kisses to marred flesh he slowly, gradually convinced Watson that his body really didn’t disgust him, that he loved every inch of it.

 

It almost seemed as if Holmes had developed an affinity for the scarred patches of skin, not in spite of, but _because _he knew how much Watson hated being touched there. And even though they never spoke of it and Holmes never once so much as tried to tell Watson that he has no reason to be ashamed, they both know what Holmes was doing during those first months of their physical relationship.

 

Looking back, Watson almost has to laugh at their admittedly awkward first time together. He was so busy being embarrassed of his own body, blushing as Holmes looked him up and down, touched him everywhere he could reach and made the most lascivious sounds as Watson tentatively touched him back, that the initial penetration came almost as a surprise. It was easier after that, though. With Holmes on his hands and knees, trembling and clutching at the sheets, gasping and keening low in his throat as he clenched convulsively around Watson’s cock, Watson didn’t feel quite so ashamed.

 

There had been no struggle for power, no conscious decision about who would penetrate whom. It just happened. For some reason it seemed natural for Holmes to end up on his back, legs wrapped around Watson’s waist, rubbing their straining cocks together, and neither of them questioned it when Holmes begged Watson to take him. Watson had been no blushing virgin, but Holmes was the first person he was intimate with after coming back from Afghanistan and he couldn’t deny that he was feeling somewhat insecure and embarrassed.

 

As it was, Holmes couldn’t see how ugly his body was after he had been flipped over and ordered to get onto his hands and knees and that made Watson a little bolder; thrusting harder into Holmes’ tightness, biting at the glistening, salty skin of his back and shoulders, reaching around to tweak and pinch Holmes’ nipples or briefly rub the swollen head of his cock. Under him Holmes was twisting and moaning, pushing back onto Watson’s cock, urging him to go faster, harder, sweaty and out of his mind with pleasure. Watson admired Holmes for being able to let go like that, surrendering himself so completely to Watson.

 

Despite having sex with Holmes, Watson was not ready to succumb to his feelings for the man. He could lose himself in Holmes for a while, pounding into him relentlessly until Holmes shuddered and came with a shout, tightening around Watson and coaxing his own climax from him. But he could not let go.

 

As they lay on Holmes’ bed together, breathing hard and the post coital haze started to clear Watson become acutely aware of how very naked, how very exposed he was. The burning shame, the embarrassment and disgust he felt for his own crippled body came back in a rush and settled in his stomach, threatening to make bile rise in his throat. Holmes, completely unaware of Watson’s inner turmoil, made a content little noise and rolled over to drape himself over Watson, rubbing the sole of his foot against Watson’s naked calf.

 

Immediately Watson’s entire body stiffened, every muscle, tendon and sinew coiled tight, poised to spring. Watson willed his breathing to be calm and even, but his heart kept pounding in his chest and his body would not relax. Holmes looked up at him questioningly, frowning slightly. Under Holmes’ worried, questioning, and just a tad hurt, gaze, Watson could feel his face and neck flush, skin burning with shame and resentment for himself.

 

Just as he could feel angry tears well up in his eyes Holmes pressed a dry kiss to his lips, jumped up and left the room. But before Watson could properly hate himself for chasing Holmes out of his own bed, the very man was back at his side, wearing Watson’s trousers and holding a pair of pyjamas. His smile was gentle, loving and, above all, understanding as he pretended to be busy finding his own sleeping garments so Watson could dress in privacy.

 

When Watson had laid down again Holmes climbed into bed next to him, now dressed in his pyjamas as well. He settled against Watson again, head on Watson’s bad shoulder, one leg thrown over Watson’s, foot absently rubbing against Watson’s calf, shifting fabric over skin. Watson wrapped arms around his body as Holmes propped himself up on his elbow to kiss Watson, slowly, gently, tongue slipping into his mouth almost as an afterthought.

 

“Holmes,” Watson mumbled as their lips parted, “I…”

 

“Shh,” Holmes shushed him with another kiss, “Don’t say anything.”

 

So Watson didn’t say anything. Not even as Holmes kissed the scar on his shoulder through his shirt before lying back down and tucking his head under Watson’s chin

 

Despite this new turn of events, sleep took them quickly and even the expected awkwardness wasn’t there when they woke up with Watson’s morning erection pressed against the curve of Holmes’ arse. No awkwardness as Watson kissed Holmes’ sleep warm neck and Holmes hummed drowsily and rolled his hips. No awkwardness as Watson rubbed his cock against Holmes, the fabric of his nightclothes creating a deliciously burning friction against his sensitive skin. No awkwardness as he palmed Holmes through his trousers, before slipping his hand inside and fisting Holmes’ cock. No awkwardness as their breathy, sleepy moans filled the room and they soiled their pyjamas.

 

Afterwards Holmes curled up with a pillow and waited for Watson to finish cleaning himself up in the bathroom and dress, before getting up and doing the same. Watson tried not to make too much of simple courtesy.

 

They established a kind of routine after that; they would have sex and after catching his breath Holmes would get up and retrieve some clothing and they would dress in separate rooms or with their backs to each other before curling up in one of their beds together. Even when Holmes went down on Watson he only ever opened his flies enough to pull out Watson’s erection and occasionally enough to be able to reach down to fondle his balls. Often Holmes would be naked or at least mostly undressed when he was on his knees before Watson, groaning with Watson’s cock buried deep in his throat as he squeezed and tugged at his own cock.

 

When Watson sucked Holmes’ cock, however, Watson was always fully dressed, not even the collar of his shirt undone, while Holmes had his shirt unbuttoned, hanging open and his trousers pooling around his ankles, flushed and sweat soaked and spreading his legs like a whore as Watson thrust a finger into his tight hole to stroke his prostate. More often than not Watson would palm himself through his trousers or desperately rut against Holmes’ leg instead of opening his trousers.

 

For almost two weeks this went on, until one night Holmes only brought him his pyjama bottoms and didn’t turn around as they both put on their trousers. Watson knew he was blushing as he awkwardly climbed into bed next to Holmes, leaving a few inches of space between them. He was burning with humiliation, flinching as Holmes rolled over and took his customary position, half draped over Watson’s body.

 

Closing his eyes and taking deep breaths through his nose didn’t help to calm his pounding heart. With his head resting on Watson’s chest, Holmes was sure to have heard it, but he only pressed a kissed to Watson’s skin and in a matter of minutes had fallen asleep. Watson quickly followed, despite his discomfort.

 

After a few days of sleeping shirtless Watson had become somewhat less uncomfortable. Holmes eyes didn’t linger on the angry red lines any more than on any other part of Watson’s body, maybe even less, so with newfound confidence, Watson took off his shirt the next time he gave Holmes a blowjob.

 

He didn’t dare look up as he knelt down in front of Holmes, with his scars exposed like that, a part of him expecting to find Holmes flaccid as he pulled him from his trousers, so he missed the proud, affectionate smile on Holmes’ lips as he looked down at Watson.

 

It was not until a week later that he let Holmes remove his shirt before he got onto his knees in front of Watson and another three days later until Watson no longer felt the need to check for signs of disgust on Holmes’ face when he was shirtless. Holmes must have noticed the change in Watson, because that very night when they lay in bed together, he put his palm onto Watson's chest, just below the scar on his shoulder and waited for Watson’s heart to stop beating itself into a frenzy.

When Holmes felt Watson had calmed somewhat, he moved his thumb over the smooth ridges and lines of the scarred tissue. Watson twitched and shuddered and went rigid under Holmes fingers, clenching his eyes shut as his face and upper body flushed red and tears of embarrassment filled his eyes.

 

Holmes kissed his cheek and cooed nonsense into his ear as he continued to map out every millimetre of that marred skin. Watson drew in a shuddering breath and exhaled shakily, hating himself as hot tears slipped from the corners of his eyes and rolled down his temples, where Holmes kissed them away. Watson’s body shook ever so slightly as Holmes took his mouth in an achingly gentle manner before leaning down to press his lips against Watson’s scar.

 

That night it was Holmes who held Watson as he curled up against Holmes’, burying his face in the crook of Holmes’ neck, shaking and shivering as Holmes rocked him gently until sleep came.

 

Again, the expected awkwardness didn’t come the next morning and except for some sheepishness on Watson’s part, it was a perfectly normal day. And when Watson didn’t shudder and flinch quite as much as Holmes rubbed his thumb over his bad shoulder they both got bolder and braver.

   
From then on Holmes pushed Watson just a little further every day, gently forcing lines and boundaries to shift and blur until Watson threw his head back in abandon as Holmes ran his warm, wet tongue over the scar on the inside of Watson’s thigh. Until, on the bad days, Holmes was allowed to knead and rub the stiff, aching leg and the throbbing shoulder until he had coaxed all the tension from the abused muscles and tendons and Watson had relaxed into his touch.

Since their first time together a lot has changed between them and by now Holmes is allowed to almost anything with Watson’s body. _Almost_. There is still that one line that he has never crossed, that Watson has never allowed him to cross. But Holmes is determined to convince Watson to let him do it.

 

“_No_, Holmes.” Watson is sitting in his armchair as the question is posed for the third time that evening.

 

Holmes suppresses a smile at the vehemence in the doctor’s voice and climbs into his lap instead, hot breath ghosting over Watson’s ear, “Please, Watson,” he murmurs, his voice dark and velvety, “You know how much I love it when you do it to me,” he bites Watson’s earlobe as he shivers, “It’s like nothing else you’ve ever felt,” he tongues Watson’s earlobe, “I promise you’ll like it.”

 

“I said no, Holmes,” Watson’s voice is slightly breathless and he tilts his head back to give Holmes’ mouth and teeth better access.

 

It’s not that he doesn’t want Holmes to fuck him. He wants it quite badly, in fact. It’s just that allowing Holmes this one last act would mean surrendering himself completely. And he’s not sure if he’s ready to do that. But if he’s completely honest with himself, he wants it so badly that whether he’s really ready or not doesn’t even matter anymore.

 

And then Holmes rolls his hips against Watson’s, effectively rubbing his hard cock against Watson’s rapidly swelling one, and breathes a soft _please _into his ear. And the raw emotion in that one word make Watson nod his head as his mind supplies him with images of Holmes shoving his cock up Watson’s arse. He groans softly as Holmes moans in relief and kisses him hard, teeth clashing as they seek out each other’s tongues.

 

Their kiss grows frenzied, Holmes grabbing at Watson’s head, Watson’s hands on Holmes’ hips, rubbing their cocks together through their trousers. Holmes makes soft keening noises in the back of his throat as the tip of his throbbing cock rubs deliciously against rough fabric, a small wet patch growing there. Holmes wrenches his mouth away from Watson’s, breathing heavily and puts his hands over Watson’s on his hips, gradually slowing down until he’s completely still, straddling Watson’s thighs.

 

He kisses Watson’s flushed neck, his jaw, his cheek, his mouth. Tongues rubbing against each other briefly, “Bedroom,” he whispers into Watson’s panting mouth before getting up and pulling Watson with him.

 

As Watson lies on his back in Holmes’ bed, naked, legs spread and a pillow under his arse, his heart is fluttering nervously in his chest and he feels uncertain of himself, uncertain of what to do. Holmes rubs his thigh reassuringly as he looks him up and down with a hungry look in his eyes, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbles into the crease of Watson’s hip, kissing a trail to his belly button and up his chest and neck to Watson’s mouth.

 

The kiss is slow and gentle; reassuring. And it makes Watson feel a little less self-conscious, his blush slowly fading. Watson wonders idly why he is so nervous now. He hasn’t even felt this nervous during his very first time with a man. But he didn’t have those awful scars back then, his mind helpfully supplies, and he blushes again, shifting uncomfortably as Holmes gets the lubricant.

 

Holmes is back at his side in an instant and smiles at him encouragingly as he pours a generous amount of oil onto his fingers. Watson does his best to smile back and it earns him another kiss. As Watson is distracted by his tongue invading his mouth, Holmes reaches down and wraps his warm, slick hand around Watson’s cock. Watson moans into Holmes’ mouth and arches into the touch. Holmes gives his cock a few hard strokes before breaking their kiss and positioning himself between Watson’s spread legs.

He lets go of Watson’s cock and Watson barely has time to whimper at the loss of contact before Holmes is rolling his balls between his slick palms, squeezing and kneading, occasionally tugging gently. Watson groans and unconsciously spreads his legs a little wider. One hand moves away from Watson’s balls and covers the mass of scar tissue on his thigh instead, which sends a curiously pleasurable thrill through Watson.

 

Convinced that Watson has relaxed enough, Holmes gently nudges his testicles out of the way and rubs a slick, hot finger against Watson’s perineum. Watson jerks and arches his back, groaning loudly as his cock twitches, slick with oil and pre-come. Slowly Holmes slides the finger farther up the crack of Watson’s arse, rubbing the pad of it against his puckered entrance. That is when Watson freezes and his eyes fly open.

 

“Holmes…” he is panting and the protest isn’t much of a protest at all, but Holmes still stops.

 

He leaves the finger where it is, just resting against Watson’s hole, not moving. He strokes an oily hand over Watson’s inner thigh and waits for him to relax. When Watson closes his eyes again he slowly circles the ring of muscle with the tip of his finger, the sensation making Watson moan in surprise. Holmes slides his finger up and down the crevice of Watson’s arse and adds more lubricant.

 

When he feels Watson is less tense and concentrating on the touch of Holmes’ finger alone, he puts it against his entrance again, looking up at Watson and waiting for him to give him the go. Watson nods, breathing heavily, and tries not to tense up again. Holmes pushes his finger against the strong muscle until it gives way and he can slide his slick finger in to the first knuckle.

 

Watson clenches instinctively around the intruding digit, making a startled noise and biting his lip. Holmes rubs the hot skin of Watson’s perineum with his thumb as he slides the rest of his finger inside. Watson wriggles in discomfort, the sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant, just strange and new. Slowly Holmes begins to move his finger to press against Watson’s prostate.

 

Watson’s entire body seizes and he arches off the mattress, his arsehole clenching around Holmes’ finger. His eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling, as he whisper a breathless, “Bloody hell.”

 

Holmes chuckles, “I told you you’d like it.”

 

For a moment Watson is relaxed and loose and Holmes uses it to push a second finger into him. Watson hisses at the burn and sting of it, but Holmes makes him forget the pain by rhythmically stroking his prostate. Soon enough Watson is reduced to moaning and writhing, pushing himself down on Holmes’ fingers and begging for more.

 

Holmes groans at the sight; Watson’s body is flushed and covered in sweat, his cock is hard and red, pre-come steadily oozing from the tip and trickling down to his balls, Holmes’ fingers are disappearing inside him. Holmes scissors his fingers, parting them in a wide V and holding them, stretching Watson’s tight hole and not allowing him to clench around his fingers.

 

Watson moans loudly and grabs at the sheets, twisting his hands in them ineffectually. Holmes forcefully thrusts a third finger into him and Watson pushes down on it, completely wanton and begging Holmes to fuck him, desperate for Holmes’ cock.

 

With a growl, Holmes retracts his fingers and positions himself between Watson’s widely spread legs. He takes his cock in hand and nudges at Watson’s slick entrance with the head of it. Watson looks up at him, pupils blown and cheeks flushed, and kisses him hard and sloppily.

 

“Fuck me,” he whispers into Holmes’ mouth.

 

With a growl and a loud groan Holmes pushes his cock into Watson’s tight hole. For a second Watson panics, thinking he can’t take it, that it’s too much and he clenches convulsively around Holmes. Holmes squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, waiting for Watson to get used to his cock stretching him. Watson tries to breathe through it until the burn fades and suddenly Watson is aware of Holmes’ cock just barely brushing his prostate, tiny sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine.

 

Only when Watson pushes down against his cock does Holmes move. He slowly pulls out before sliding back in, tearing groans from both their throats. He creates a slow, gentle rhythm that has Watson moaning and clawing at Holmes’ sweaty back, throwing his head back in abandon and begging Holmes to take him harder.

 

Holmes complies, hooking Watson’s uninjured leg over his shoulder and slamming into him hard. Watson’s eyes fly open and he gasps, staring at Holmes sweaty, flushed face. Holmes leans down and bites Watson’s bottom lip, their tongues tangling and sliding against each other, though their mouths remain parted. Watson experimentally tightens his inner muscles around Holmes and the sudden tightness makes Holmes throw his head back, gasping for air.

 

He grabs Watson’s hips then, fucking him hard and fast and without finesse. Watson’s throbbing cock is trapped between their stomachs, sticky and hot. Watson loses himself in the sensations then; Holmes slamming into him, hitting his prostate with every thrust, his own cock sliding against their sweat slick stomachs, forgetting about everything else. And it’s almost too much. He’s almost there. He can feel his orgasm building at the base of his spine, but it is just out of reach.

 

And then Holmes leans down and slides his tongue over the scar on Watson’s shoulder. And it is too much. With a shout Watson comes hard, his release covering their chests and stomachs as his cock jerks between them. Holmes clenches his jaw and tries to stifle his sounds in vain as Watson is impossibly tight around him and his come spurts up Watson’s arse.

 

Sweaty and spent, Holmes collapses onto Watson. They’re both panting hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, hearts pounding hard in their chests. Watson strokes a hand down Holmes spine and kisses the top of his sweaty head. Holmes looks up at him and smiles uncertainly as if wondering if Watson truly enjoyed himself.

 

Watson leans down to kiss Holmes, cupping his strong jaw and sucking on his bottom lip. It seems to convince Holmes that, yes, he has positively blown Watson’s mind. Not bothering to clean themselves up, they curl up together, sticky with sweat and come as they are, and fall asleep almost instantly.

 

It’s the first night that Watson doesn’t think about his scars and whether Holmes was disgusted as he was touching them before sleep takes him.


End file.
